magnolia
by Hedonistic Opportunist
Summary: Schneizel Vi Britannia has no reason to believe in love, and he won't allow an entertainer called Suzaku Kururugi change that. Schneizel/Suzaku. First arc of a series.


_**magnolia**_

**Warning(s)**: a lot of kinks, not limited to foot fetish, uniforms, somnophilia, and some actions that might be interpreted as dub-con towards the end (but that's open to debate.) Also: past hints of Suzaku/Lelouch, and Schneizel/Kanon. And er, weird, disjointed writing style? Originally a series of drabbles, so it might not always flow, so pretend you're, er, reading a series rather than one big whole.

**Author's Notes**: For** Aki1**. A very _bizarre _verse that is an amalgamation of several verses, and though listed as 'complete' it's not really. It's part of a series that I'm hoping to upload one by one (er, maybe. Hopefully XD).

* * *

**_(a game that -)_**

The first time Schneizel hears of Suzaku Kururugi is on a cold, rainy February afternoon. Lelouch sits rigidly on his chair, hands carefully folded in his lap, his eyes trained on the floor.

"So you slept with him," Schneizel says carefully, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice because this isn't like his little brother at all (not the boy who carefully plans and plots, avoiding all unnecessary entanglements —). He lets out a small sigh and removes his glasses, knowing fully well he won't be doing any more reading up on the family's legal ongoings. A bit bothersome. It was rather necessary.

Still Lelouch is Lelouch, and he won't deny him assistance when required. Especially since Lelouch won't be in London for much longer, and this seems urgent.

Sighing again, Schneizel repeats his words, his tone even more measured this time. "You slept with a man called Suzaku Kururugi two weeks ago — have I understood correctly?"

Lelouch just nods once.

Schneizel smiles politely. "That was, perhaps, not the wisest course of action so shortly before your wedding, but young men have needs, and as long as you were discrete —"

The slightest trace of a blush passes over Lelouch's cheeks. "There are pictures." He shifts uncomfortably on his seat, his gaze now fixed on the window — the scenery revealing nothing but the grey, dull streets of London in the morning gloom. People leaving their homes with sullen faces for a job that means nothing but another slow wasting away of their meaningless existence.

Then Lelouch looks at him, eyes narrowed and clear as he curls one hand to a fist. "I don't want Shirley to know. She can't ever know."

And this is all that it takes for Schneizel to understand just what kind of trap Lelouch fell for: it's the oldest trick in the book of seduction _(a song, a siren, a plunge and then the falling into the ocean, sinking deeper, and deeper—)._

Foolish brother. So utterly foolish. He should throw him out of the room right away and let him reap what he sowed, but Lelouch looks at him expectantly, and all Schneizel says is, "I'll take care of the matter." Even if he knows that it will cause him nothing but unnecessary trouble.

And yet, sometimes, caring is stronger than reason.

...

Kanon just makes a disgusted face as he hands the report to Schneizel. "He's even got a website with his rates and the services he offers written out in full detail."

Fascinating, Schneizel thinks. Technology really has come a far way indeed, and Suzaku Kururugi is a clever man if he knows how to use it to his advantage.

He throws a quick glance at the paper — the sunlight streaming in through the window making the print stand out against the white strongly enough that he doesn't have to put on his glasses. "And he promises to make you sing. Quite intriguing, definitely worth looking into- " He stops himself. The remark was unwise.

Because, for a brief second, something flits over Kanon's face, and Schneizel is reminded why he's careful with remarks of a personal nature, and why he doesn't sleep with anyone he works with (not anymore).

Schneizel avoids meeting the man's gaze, and steels his face into one of utmost composure. "Thank you. That was everything. I'll presently take a look at the website."

Time to go and catch that siren while beating him at his own game.

...

The hotel room that Suzaku resides in turns out to be the first surprise — not as frilly or tasteless as he imagined, but far more English elegance with the fire burning in the hearth, and the carpet decorating the floor, and if Schneizel closes his eyes, he can nearly imagine this being home, the heart of the city_, _the Tower of London just a few streets away, and this not being the outskirts, far away from any tower. But he doesn't dwell on memories, having locked them away the day he accepted becoming the head of the family _(or maybe even before, when he lost him —)_.

Either way, whether Suzaku has the right contacts or it's his own taste, Schneizel decides he likes the room because it's proof that he's not dealing with an amateur.

"I'm sorry, but Gino didn't catch your name." And Suzaku Kururugi welcoming him defrocked is the second surprise to the point that Schneizel can't tear his eyes away when Suzaku walks further into the room before setting down on the sofa vis-a-vis Schneizel —

And Schneizel can't deny that Suzaku Kururugi is exquisite — his body perfectly proportional as if sculpted by a Greek artist, but it's the eyes that catch Schneizel's attention: bright, intelligent green eyes that promise mischief and a challenge worth accepting.

But oh no, he won't fall under his spell. Not at all.

But he knows, even as he asks for the pictures and already deducts where their exact location might be, that he'll not be leaving this room any time soon.

_**(slowly, slowly –)**_

Suzaku tastes like champagne — only more exotic, luxurious and forbidden. It should be worrying because Schneizel knows that most things quickly turn sour once the mask comes undone and the novelty wears off.

Yet, there's nothing sour about Suzaku: not the taste of his mouth, or the way he sighs and slides his eyes shut when Schneizel dips his tongue between his toes, or runs it over them before sucking slowly, smirking as he hears a sharp intake of breath coming from above. Now, he knows for certain that no one has ever really done _this _for Suzaku before. Even if the memory of doing it is painful and makes his heart clench because, though the photograph of _him _fades with every passing year, Schneizel doesn't think he'll ever _forget._

And he shouldn't be doing _this_ for an entertainer who, not only led his brother into a trap, but will do the same to him as soon as the opportunity presents itself —

He won't allow himself to lose though, even if Suzaku's tongue takes his cock in cleverly, deep enough that Schneizel finds himself _close _before the main act begins even. But Schneizel isn't new at sex, so he pushes Suzaku down, down until they both find themselves on the carpet, the soft fluff rendering it possible that the thud against the ground is not a painful one.

Yet, even if it hurt, Schneizel wouldn't care, not at all — his entire senses focused on Suzaku: his lips, his tongue, the way he bucks and moans as Schneizel pushes _in._

And he finds Suzaku perfectly fitted for his body, smooth and flexible — especially when he flips them over, so that Suzaku is on top: the tell-tale flush that spreads over Suzaku's cheeks telling Schneizel everything he needs to know.

Namely, that Suzaku loves being in control while submitting: his giving in just a smooth act, just a fake because he holds the reins while controlling every move, every roll of his hips as he lifts himself off Schneizel's cock before sinking back down.

Or so he thinks.

Even if he's letting Suzaku do as he pleases, Schneizel knows he holds the cards in his hands. He's just letting his opponent fool himself into an easily won victory.

_(They did agree: no rules —)_

When he finds Suzaku's blush deepening, and his clenching growing more insistent, he flips them over again, this time slamming in Suzaku over and over, right into that spot until Suzaku's moans and cries grow even louder, the flush on his face deepens and he pulls Schneizel so close that he can lean down and kiss him, tasting yet again that special something that he already knows he won't be getting enough of.

And the most worrying thing is that, somehow, he's beginning not to care.

...

And Schneizel wins this round, Suzaku says, but Schneizel knows that — if anything — it was a tie because he followed within seconds, only his perfectly trained self-control having kept him from coming at the same time _(Suzaku's shuddering and gasping making it harder and harder to keep himself from falling —)_

Suzaku looks at him, not quite as smug as before, though far from humiliated either: he merely sits there looking satisfied and pleased, still naked, cheeks still flushed and eyes shining bright. And Schneizel realises that it's because Suzaku knows that he's made one of the most careful men in London reveal his true side for a second, and though it's not necessarily a victory, it's still something. Because letting glimpses of one's true self shine through, especially towards an enemy, always means losing a little too.

But Schneizel doesn't feel perturbed (_yet_): Suzaku hasn't got anything against him, and — if he's wise — he'll walk out of this before he gives him the opportunity to gain _something_ (his heart, his past, all those vulnerabilities he's worked so hard to hide beneath a mask of utter composure).

Of course, as a shrewd businessman and smooth-talking trained lawyer, he could let Suzaku think he really won, and demand his exchange _(which he does: a picture, the pictures that would have spelt his brother's doom)._

In fact, he could just walk out of this very room and pretend that everything that happened was just another successful business transaction, ending their story right then and there.

But Schneizel doesn't close the chapter, instead opening the possibility for another adventure as he decides that the game is _on_.

...

Kanon merely stares at Schneizel, lips drawn to a tight line as he takes in his orders _(reserve me a room at the Golden Suite, tomorrow evening —). _He nods, jotting everything down into his notebook, his voice professional as he repeats the words. And yet, as he starts walking out of the room, Kanon faces Schneizel yet again. "Pardon my interference, sir, but you could have everyone - why _pay _someone to sleep with you?"

"Because he's an utter professional at _what _he does," Schneizel says, ignoring the displeasure and hurt so obviously etched onto his secretary's face (too late for regrets). "And less trouble than seducing someone who pretends to praise the grounds I walk on, but is only after my money."

"He might just be out for your money and influence as well, sir," Kanon says, revealing in that instant _why _Schneizel never bothered firing him even when things got uncomfortable for a while. Finding a secretary — a right hand man, actually — who really cared was a nigh impossibility in this business (sometimes, Schneizel just wishes he could have done the same —).

"Possibly, but he's — at least — _honest _about it. And," Schneizel smiles politely at Kanon, taking off his glasses and opening his account book, "I'm not new at this either. I won't allow myself to get burnt." Not anymore, nor ever again.

Kanon just nods once. "I see, sir."

Besides Schneizel thinks, as he watches Kanon leave the room, he might just find a way to teach Suzaku a lesson even more worthwhile than defeat.

_**(spirals-)**_

The lull and hum of the morning traffic keeps cutting in through the otherwise persistent silence looming over his office as he moves his pen against snow white paper, scribbling down notes and dates, only occasionally stopping in order to check if the numbers are correct (they usually _are)._

Schneizel chuckles as he remembers how Lelouch always tells him, over the phone, how he's old-fashioned, and should buy a computer, and how he always responds, in return, that computers are, despite their usefulness, artificial and impersonal.

And, even if it's peculiar and whimsical, Schneizel likes the smell of paper: paper being so unassuming, simple and different from the heavy atmosphere in the pompously furnished dinner halls that he spends so much of his time in: these dinners, in effect, being nothing but a collection of heavy meals that he rarely touches because they might be poisoned, and red-wine dinner table spreads that merely hide the blood drenching them so. These meetings nothing but an exercise of shaking hands with smooth criminals and murderers who merely have learnt to bury their skeletons very well.

For a just a second, he stops writing, _musing. _

In another world, he knows he could have been happy doing just _this_ — accounting, but Schneizel doesn't fall under the illusion of dreaming because he knows that dreams are just a step away from falling prey to delusions _(love, for example, doesn't exist, is just a lie hallucinated by fools in opium dens, nothing but a trap to lay bare all the things that hold him together —). _

And so, he picks up his pen again, starts writing because he also learnt, at a young age, that musings are nothing but a slow, painful downwards spiral towards doom, and, if not stopped, they grow unmanageable, running loose and wreaking havoc.

And yet, as he turns a page, and envisions Suzaku in a black leather coat, leaning against the sofa, revealing tanned skin and muscular legs, and smiling as he pushes the tails of the coats up, revealing more more skin …

… Schneizel doesn't kill that strand of thought, but holds onto it until it unravels itself and grows into a daydream, so vivid that, as he closes his eyes, he can taste Suzaku's smooth skin on his lips as he presses kisses against his neck.

In the afternoon, when the day turns warmer, and the sun makes the flecks of dust on his mahogany desk appear more visible, Lelouch calls him, and it's nearly as if nothing had happened. _Nearly_ because Lelouch hasn't perfected the art of pretence yet, still stumbles over words, still slips into betraying himself and his emotions as he mentions _that_ name _(a promise of misbehaviour and ecstasy, rolled into one, a nightmare posing as a pleasant midsummer's dream—)._

Schneizel sighs. "The pictures have been taken care of. Don't worry."

A long pause stretches between them before Lelouch finally replies, "That's good. Very good. Thank you."

He doesn't say anything else on the matter, but he doesn't have to. Schneizel could hear the unspoken whispers, the stupid thoughts flooding his brother's brain ('_did he ask about me?'_ and '_did you sleep with him as well_').

Schneizel merely mentions the wedding, saying he'll be there before he hangs up. Minutes later, his phone buzzes as he receives a text message.

...

_What do you want me to wear for our second meeting? _

_Oh, I get to decide on that?_

_It's part of the service. I do aim to 'entertain', after all._

_And misbehave, I thought._

_Of course — I always misbehave :). But tell me, what do you want me to wear? A geisha's outfit, nothing or … hmm, a surprise. Do you like to be surprised because I can always arrange that — surprise you and make you beg for more. _

_Not this time. Fine: a soldier's uniform with good-fitting boots. _

_Interesting. Alright, I'll do my best 3. _

_I look forward to it. _

_You won't regret it._

...

Kanon walks in for a minute after knocking tentatively. "I've done as you asked me, sir. The reservations at the hotel suite have been arranged." A frown creases Kanon's forehead. "What are you smiling about, sir?"

"He's quite smug, I must say," Schneizel says as he tucks his phone back into the pockets of his jacket.

"I think that's all the more reason to be careful — he doesn't have any good intentions," Kanon says nearly at the door already, his eyes trained on an indefinite spot on the wall.

Shaking his head, Schneizel merely chuckles. "That's what I'm hoping for: no _good _intentions."

They aren't meeting for a chat over tea and biscuits, after all.

...

And, the moment he enters that luxurious suite, and Suzaku surprises him in an elegantly embroidered soldier's uniform, he knows that Suzaku is up to no good — that same smile again _(wicked, promising)_, and those eyes _(full of cunning, challenging —). _

He raises an eyebrow when he sees Suzaku pouring tea into cups. "I thought you weren't going for geisha."

Suzaku just smiles, amused. "Soldiers do get thirsty, and you're my guest, after all, sir."

_Oh, he's good_, Schneizel realises: nearly the perfect specimen of docility now as he continues pouring tea into his cup, his movements dainty though the material stretching over the uniform reveals muscular arms, but maybe _this_ is what the perfect slave lastly is _(nothing but a master because it's he who lastly makes his superior yield, by having him succumb to lower pleasures —). _

Schneizel leans forward, cupping Suzaku's face. "I'm not really thirsty."

"_Oh_?" Suzaku asks, merely lifting an eyebrow as something promising shines in his eyes. Then, he smiles, not sweetly, but impishly. ""Let's have dinner then."

"I'm not really hungry either." But still, Schneizel merely smiles as well before leaning forward to bridge the gap between them because he knows they weren't talking about the traditional sort of dinner.

...

And Suzaku plays the role of the soldier perfectly, as if he'd been born into it: stripping slowly and carefully out of that uniform, revealing smooth, smooth skin and muscles that make Schneizel want to lean forward and touch, inspect to see just how they'd flex if —

"Keep your boots on," he orders.

And Suzaku just smirks, again all 'yes, sir' as Schneizel pushes him down the couch and — slowly and leisurely — pulls off his boots one by one _(smooth, shining boots — )_

Suzaku smiles. "I knew you'd like the boots. Had them made by the best cobbler, or — better said- I know what makes him _sing."_

"I see, still as smug as ever —" Schneizel says, and drowns out any further commentary on Suzaku's part as he runs his tongue over Suzaku's big toe before taking it into his mouth, sucking slowly, enjoying the moans emitting from Suzaku's mouth because he's no longer quite as smug now, no longer quite an artifice, but _real_, finally real even if only for the flicker of a second.

The same treatment on Suzaku's other toe makes him even louder, more pliant as his body squirms, and Schneizel chuckles, enjoying how this untameable, playful and dangerous creature slowly comes undone before him _(but he's not his yet, he knows that because a siren can never fully be possessed—). _

But, as he takes Suzaku's cock into his mouth, sucking him off until Suzaku's moans and bucking turn into a 'please stop, sir' — uttered, Schneizel knows, because any more and Suzaku would lose face — Schneizel realises it's not about possession.

No. He just wants to know the real Suzaku: not the soldier, not the entertainer, but what really lurks behind those green, beautiful eyes.

So much that, even if Suzaku offers to bend over and pleasure him like a real soldier _(I know this is how you want me, sir)_, Schneizel takes him while he's lying on his back, his face not hidden as he pushes inside —

And, just for a second, he thinks he sees _desire_ reflected there in those eyes, real desire as they're connected like this, and — the daydreams that have been fermenting inside of his head — take over, and he starts moving, rolling his hips forwards, moving faster and faster. Suzaku just moans, wrapping his legs around his waist, squeezing and moving his hips underneath him like they're meant to be only doing this, and nothing else _(as if they had been made for each other, two figures meant to dance together until they die). _

… _This is bad_, Schneizel realises. He couldn't stop now, even if the last thrust were his last: fucking Suzaku is like a mantra, a thing that seems as necessary to him as breathing.

He's losing himself, but it's too fun to pull out, and there's still no harm in it.

It's just a game.

(Or so he tell himself.)

Only that, the moment he hires Suzaku to be his lover for three weeks, Schneizel realises it's no longer really an ordinary game, but something more dangerous, and far more than just a gamble — just he doesn't know what yet.

But he'll find out, or die trying.

_(He'll let Suzaku watch him dance, while he watches him dance in return)._

_**(out of -)**_

March, sullen and rainy, withers away in a blur of annoying meetings and informal encounters with Suzaku in tastefully furnished hotel rooms.

In these hotel rooms, Schneizel grows to appreciate every curve and angle of Suzaku's body, learns that leaning down to kiss the nape of Suzaku's neck makes him shiver, that pressing kisses against his collarbone when moving inside of him turns Suzaku's gasps just a little louder, and that breathing down against his cheek causes his eyelids to flutter shut.

The following realisation sinks its claws into his mind: Suzaku equals perfection.

The following doesn't: he should heed the warning signs on the wall.

_(Singing is there to lure him in, kissing is there to enthrall him, and embracing is there to pull him into the depths of the ocean.)_

But it's too late: Schneizel already knows that owning Suzaku Kururugi would be more than just pleasure, a bargain worth its price: a part of him wants to own Suzaku like he's never wanted to own someone before —

He already cares.

_(and — he's fallen, hook, line and sinker.)_

...

In the first week of April the weather improves, in the sense that it doesn't rain cat and dogs anymore, but drizzles lightly. Not that Schneizel cares as he closes the browser's window and turns his laptop off. He's not in London.

He walks towards the window, opens it and takes a deep breath — yes, he's missed _this_.

Maybe it's not the salty smell of the sea, but still it's _Venice_— which he's always loved.

And he's nearly forgotten all about sirens and singing until the mobile phone in his pocket buzzes, the manly 'oooh' telling him exactly who's just texted him.

...

_Hey there 3 Let's have dinner. _

_I still marvel over the fact that you chose such a ringtone. You nearly gave my sister Euphy a heart attack that one time. It was most uncomfortable. _

_I wanted you to know when /I/ text you. So, what's Venice like? I heard it was pretty :)_

_It is. I didn't think you messaged your clients outside of work hours, though. _

_I don't. You're an exception to the rule._

_I'm flattered._

_You should be 3. I don't make exceptions for just anyone. So…what is Venice like? Come on, you're not usually that short-winded on those matters. Impress me. Men, who are wordsmiths, are the new sexy. _

_I thought 'brainy' was the new sexy. Anyhow, Venice is beautiful, enrapturing: a world that seems to have crawled out of a water painting with its glimmering rivers under the shade of the moonlight, the old buildings passing by when you're sitting on a boat and seeing both the moon and the buildings reflected in the ripples — all of this, this imaginary, topsy turvy world, so beautiful that it's tempting to dip forward and plunge in. _

_…I didn't know you were into poetry 3. Reading those lines makes me want to have you, right here and now …or, at least, I'd have you right then and there, during that boat trip, ride you right under the nose of the boatsman and make you sing. _

_Or make the boat __tilt __over, I presume. I'm hardly into poetry. You didn't want me to mince words, so I didn't. Don't mock me._

_I'm not. You really make me want to go…So if I'd gone with you, where would you have taken me? Impress me :) I'm bored, waiting for this one client to appear._

_So you want to talk about Venice with me? Fine, I'll indulge you. I'd have taken you sight-seeing at first, shown you firsthand how narrow the streets are, then invited you over to eat at a restaurant by the Grand Canal, and then taken you for a boat trip. _

_I'd __have been __drunk on wine and nuzzled your neck, maybe leaned forward and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Would you have pushed me away or let me grind against you, until your legendary patience cracked and you'd have taken me? Or would you have wait__ed __until we reached the hotel room?_

_Neither. I'd have taken you before that. _

_Really? I'm intrigued. Tell me more :) Impress a boy. _

_I'd have taken your hand the moment you rubbed your foot against my groin, pulling you towards the private men's washroom and fucked you against a wall — so hard that you'd have begged my name thrice. _

_Oh. You're starting to misbehave. You think I'd have let you? Fuck me like that? Oh, stupid question, you know I would have. But … you really think you could make me scream your name?_

_Of course. I have no doubt in that. _

_I'll take your word for it then. You know, when you come back, we'll be playing a 'couple' since you requested the lover__'s __package. So you'll have ample opportunity to try out. _

_I'll be sure to do so._

_Hmm. Looking forward to it :). Gotta dash now. The client is going to arrive soon, and I need to get ready 3_

...

Schneizel doesn't hear from Suzaku for the rest of his stay, but it doesn't matter. Festivities keep him busy, and making sure that Lelouch doesn't leave his bride at the altar on his wedding day is a more pressing concern than exchanging texts with an 'entertainer'.

But, despite that, a pressing voice in his head can't help but tell him that Suzaku should at least message him once a day.

He pushes that thought away, though, as he channels his mind back to the present, casting away the silly, nearly farcical role of a jealous, anxious lover to take on the more dramatic one of a protective and wise brother who ensures that Lelouch casts just enough attention on his newly-wedded wife in order to not look negligent.

...

As expected, Suzaku performs the role of the expected date as splendidly as every other of his roles, showcasing this perfectly by arriving on the dot for their first rendez-vous — impeccably dressed in a suit that brings attention to his eyes. Schneizel doesn't know if it's the fact that he hasn't seen him for the past two weeks, or because he's really that well-dressed, but he can't tear his eyes away from Suzaku, following his every move as they walk towards the dinner table.

And Suzaku moves smoothly, elegantly and just a trickle seductively enough to match the swaying of a dancer, but also tones it down enough so as not to attract the wrong sort of attention.

The thought strikes him again that Suzaku is perfection in every way, and it doesn't leave him until they reach the dinner table, and the waiter comes to collect their orders. After that, he doesn't only think that Suzaku is perfect, but also allows that thought to become something he freely indulges in.

Nothing to worry about anymore, he thinks, as he looks at Suzaku over the dinner table. He's already admitted to himself that he's already lost a bit, after all.

Suzaku behaves politely and smiles shyly, though there's nothing polite or remotely shy in the glances he throws at Schneizel or the way he rubs his foot up and down Schneizel's knee. He starts off slowly enough, but quickly fastens his pace, his foot dangerously coming close to rubbing right there where it arouses him the _most. _

He should tell Suzaku to stop, but he doesn't, instead watching Suzaku's smile widen as he lets out a noticeable gasp.

"Let's go the washroom," he says, and Suzaku just smiles more, possibly even wider than before because he knows he's won this round.

Or so Suzaku thinks.

Schneizel fulfills his promise of making Suzaku scream his name as he fucks him in the men's washroom. It might not be thrice, but it's still _something, _and he's not the only one who's on the losing side.

...

Suzaku arrives at his apartment in boots again. Not military boots, but still fine footwear with lots of zippers and buckles — just the sort that he knows Schneizel loves playing with.

And he does _play, _taking his time in getting the boots off as Suzaku slides further down the wall, spreading out his knee, giving him better access. He takes his time in getting the zipper down, using teeth, not minding the metallic taste because the promise of hearing Suzaku gasp soon makes this more than worthwhile_. _

And, soon enough, he does hear Suzaku gasp again as he mouths his lips against his feet, as he worships his toes with his tongue, delighting in every sound and hitch of breath that comes out of Suzaku's mouth. It surprises him that Suzaku indulges him, but what astounds him more is that he's the one who's currently giving Suzaku pleasure, though — technically — it should be the other way round.

Not that he minds _that _either. Rules and norms are there to be broken, after all.

...

"If you manage to surprise me tonight, I'll tell you three secrets," Suzaku says, smiling impishly, and Schneizel accepts the challenge, knowing he'll be able to fulfill that — besides, to back down now would be cowardice. So he stops pressing kisses against Suzaku's toes, and slowly raises on to his feet.

Suzaku shouldn't forget whom he's dealing with here, Schneizel thinks as he leads Suzaku to his room. "Come on — I have something to show you."

Of course, Suzaku doesn't really suspect anything as he follows Schneizel, his bare feet padding against the floor.

...

The view of his balcony offers a glimpse into nothing but grey streets and alleys that he imagines would only offer pleasure and intrigue to a consulting detective and his trusted 'colleague'. He himself, as a certain other gentleman likes to say fondly, has never been one for 'legwork'. So the view does nothing for him, only makes him frown. "It's fascinating how many people live in this city, and yet how lonely everyone is."

Schneizel doesn't say it out of sentiment, but because it's an undeniable fact.

He wraps his hands around Suzaku's waist, pulling him closer, his breath fanning the back of Suzaku's neck. Suzaku shivers, but doesn't move away, instead looking up, his eyes warm and welcoming. "It's alright. I'll never leave you." _(And he's so warm and close, the embrace so familiar, so terrifyingly intimate —)_

…Those words shouldn't cut that much, but they do. And Schneizel finds himself whispering 'that's what they always say' before he kisses Suzaku's neck while his hands explore the warm, smooth skin under that red polo red shirt. By now, he knows that Suzaku is sensitive, that tracing hands down his sides is a good idea as well as circling a finger against his nipple —

It's not long before Suzaku begins breathing heavily, and Schneizel smiles, tracing his hand downwards before sliding it inside Suzaku's jeans.

Suzaku gasps and moans as Schneizel cups his cock and begins to rub, his hands gripping the rails of the balcony harder. "We should go inside." He lets out another moan, this time more demanding, and starts grinding his ass against Schneizel's groin.

Chuckling against Suzaku's ear, Schneizel fastens his pace, squeezing as he realises that those sounds are _genuine. "_

Or we could just stay here," he whispers into Suzaku's ear, "make love right here, where — no one and everyone can see us."

Suzaku shudders, and then just grinds harder, granting Schneizel permission.

...

And Schneizel knows he's surprised Suzaku, is _surprising _him with every thrust that sends Suzaku rocking forwards, his hands gripping the railing of the balcony even harder as his moans grow louder and louder.

He's trying to hold them back, Schneizel notes, and it makes him chuckle because he's pretty sure no one can see them: not from this distance, and definitely not at this hour — his neighbourhood being one of the sort that is barely populated at this hour, most people drinking tea or watching telly in their comfortable houses right now.

But he'll leave Suzaku to his delusions if it gets him off. If it makes him muffle his groans like that as he pushes in harder, and finds that angle that turns Suzaku into one of the most expressive lovers he's ever had.

Because he's expressive all right, not only in the way he moans and moves his hips against Schneizel's thrusts, but the way his neck is flushed, and the way — as he approaches climax, and his walls tighten around Schneizel's cock — he rests the back of his head against Schneizel's chest.

Schneizel wraps his arms around Suzaku's waist again, holding him close as he finds himself nearing orgasm as well, thrusting in hard and deep and finding himself unable to refer to this as 'fucking' in his head.

This is_ intimate_, _loving _because he kisses Suzaku gently and tenderly when he's done, still holding onto him as he slips out — carefully as if he wished to cherish Suzaku —

_(and not only cherish, but love —)_

And Schneizel realises it then:

He's lost.

_(But somehow he finds that drowning doesn't feel as bad as he thought it would.)_

_**(-control)**_

He takes Suzaku to bed after that rush of adrenaline on the balcony, sweat clings to both of their bodies, but Schneizel doesn't mind it at all, just grateful to feel the familiar softness of his bed while Suzaku nuzzles his neck like a satisfied cat (_as if they were lovers, idling away on a hot summer's night, content with each other and nothing but each other)._

Being with Suzaku like this is _warm _and _intimate_, and Schneizel indulges in the sensation of holding Suzaku close, allowing himself to be happy just for happiness' sake.

It's all an illusion though.

Sooner or later, the spell will break, and he'll have to face reality – that _this_ is nothing but paid _comfort_, that Suzaku's affections might mean nothing at all. He sighs against Suzaku's neck. Waking up from a dream shouldn't be this uncomfortable. But he doesn't push Suzaku away, letting him do as he pleases _(hearts can be burnt out, but the craving for touch remains a constant flame. Even with him)._

A few minutes later, Suzaku moves away from his neck, placing a tender kiss on his lips, settling on his lap more comfortably, and Schneizel groans — he's glad they both decided to put on some of their clothes. Or this would have ended in another round of sex, certainly.

"Time to gather your reward. Ask your ask three questions," Suzaku breathes down against his cheek, and Schneizel knows — _oh_, he's so sure of this – that all of this is on purpose, so that he'll forget to ask the right sort of questions.

_Sweet_. But Suzaku is underestimating him yet again. Especially his observation skills.

The moonlight falling into his room provides enough illumination for him to see how tanned Suzaku's skin looks next to his, and he takes Suzaku's hand into his, noticing the callouses — not discernible to the unpractised eye, but Schneizel has seen enough assassins and ex-army men in his life to recognise the marks on Suzaku's hands for what they are: this is a man who's touched things, who's worked with his hands — the imprints telling stories of a life _before _that had little to do with 'singing' and 'entertaining'.

"You were a soldier once, weren't you?"

A small smile makes its way across Suzaku's face: not playful, but tired, and sad, so very sad. It's the smile of a man who's faced hardships before _(who knows what it means to lose, what it means to wake up from a spell and find that the golden carriage is nothing but a pumpkin)._

"I was," he says finally, his answer clear yet vague enough that Schneizel is still left in the dark, even though he knows something now. Not that it matters: if he lets his best man on it, he's sure he'll find out something. There's no such thing as a secret that can't be uncovered.

Schneizel nods. "I see. My second question: what made you choose _this _profession?"

This time, Suzaku's smiles a bit more widely, the sadness in his eyes disappearing. "Why not? The pay is excellent, and I'm the best lay you can find without travelling outside of the island."

And Schneizel shakes his head and chuckles, in spite of himself. "Not very modest, I see."

Suzaku just smirks. "Modesty is just a means of hoping to earn false praise. I know my worth, and would never say anything about it that doesn't fit its price." He shifts closer, presses another series of soft kisses against Schneizel's neck, and Schneizel wonders again how much of this is faked, and how much _real_.

"_Charming_. Finally: what made you choose Lelouch?"

For a second, Suzaku frowns before biting on his underlip. "He approached _me_. During his stag party. I'd really … mostly been hired to play on the saxophone." He shrugs and then smiles. "When he booked me, and I found out who he was, I just went along with it."

Schneizel raises an eyebrow, and looks into Suzaku's eyes, trying to _understand_. "For protection?"

Something shifts in Suzaku's eyes — again that serious expression flits over them, again that sadness. "Of course. Even a man like me wants to _live_, after all."

At that instant, Schneizel realises that there's more, far more, to Suzaku than meets the eye, and he shouldn't care, but he finds himself wanting to lean forward and touch Suzaku to make that sadness go away, finds a stupid part of him thinking that he should _protect _Suzaku, but he doesn't do anything, instead just says, "Fine, your round. Ask me three things. Anything you want." Because this could be fun, and Schneizel doesn't see why he can't entertain Suzaku a little as well — indeed, from the way Suzaku's eyes light up, and he nestles closer, he guesses that he's doing a rather fine job of just that.

Suzaku leans a little closer, whispering again, and Schneizel closes his eyes, unable to suppress a shiver. "How much of the British Mafia do you really control?"

Schneizel smiles: a good question, a clever one. If he were stupid, he'd tell Suzaku everything now, but he doesn't, just runs his hand through Suzaku's soft curls, and says, "Quite a portion. Enough that living a long and healthy life is considerably shortened the longer I maintain this profession."

And Suzaku just smiles, accepting the answer for what it is, though Schneizel can tell he's storing away some of the information for future use. He doesn't mind: they're both chess masters, after all, both just waiting to make the right move.

_(When Lelouch was a child, Schneizel told him that, if you wanted to win, you never gave your opponent a chance to break through your defences, never indulged them. He'd always lived by that morale, had never let anyone break past his self-constructed barriers, not after —)_

"Have you ever killed a person before?" Suzaku's voice cuts through his thoughts, and that's the moment when everything _breaks_.

He's letting himself be weak, he's letting Suzaku see a part of himself he's not shown to anyone in years —

Schneizel closes his eyes, feeling how his body trembles slightly as he answers in the affirmative, expecting Suzaku to ask for more, but —

But Suzaku just kisses him, wrapping his arms around Schneizel's neck, and Schneizel, though he should push him away because this is what sirens do before they move in for the kill, lets him and allows himself to fall.

...

_(A broken watch. Blood. The echo of a gunshot._

_And then silence. Nothing but silence and a cold body staring back at him with accusing, lifeless eyes.)_

Suzaku feels _warm _as he rides Schneizel, his gasps loud as he picks up on pace — Schneizel wants to close his eyes, but doesn't, instead observes Suzaku's face. And he's so beautifully lively, his lips forming little 'o's whenever he grinds against Schneizel's groin, lifts his hips and then sinks back down on his cock. Schneizel runs a finger over those lips, exploring their softness as he notices how the flush on Suzaku's face deepens, and his eyes flutter —

He really should hate Suzaku for being this utterly captivating, but he doesn't, instead moves his hips and thrusts upwards — eager to roll things into motion, curious if Suzaku's eyes shall open at that.

Indeed, for a second, Suzaku does open his eyes as he lets out a loud gasp, and their gazes meet. Schneizel feels a shudder scuttle down his spine because _this_ suddenly feels more intimate than anything else they've ever done — Suzaku's eyes just as glossy and full of desire as his, just as needing, just as affectionate — and it's powerful, so powerful that Schneizel finds his breath hitch.

It's too _powerful_ because Suzaku looks away then, leaning down to — Schneizel guesses — nuzzle his neck, but he does it too quickly, too carelessly, and misses, knocking his head against Schneizel's jaw instead.

And Schneizel, Schneizel just loses it, flipping them over, continuing to thrust into Suzaku, only pausing to ask, "Are you fine?" Saying anything else would be too _dangerous_. Besides, he can see it in Suzaku's eyes — can see all the unspoken vulnerability there.

"Y-yes," is all Suzaku says, pulling Schneizel in for a kiss before wrapping his legs around his waist, and Schneizel just kisses back, continuing to move, muffling Suzaku's moans with his mouth. Soon though, _this _grows tiring, and Schneizel starts pressing kisses against Suzaku's jaw, his collarbone, occasionally licking his way down as he quickens his thrusts, loving the way Suzaku grows steadily louder and abandons all shame — not that he ever had any to begin with — as he's reaching climax. Not that Schneizel minds, loving Suzaku's _voice_, his warmth, and the way he moves his hips in accord with Schneizel's thrusts, as if he can't get enough himself, as if —

_(They both were drunk and dizzy on each other, eager to keep this dance going as long as the world keeps spinning.)_

They both come at the same time, Schneizel leaving his face buried in the crook of Suzaku's neck, and Suzaku clutching on so tightly to him that it nearly hurts.

Not that it matters — Schneizel already knows that he doesn't want to let go, and there's no reason why Suzaku should.

What matters is that Suzaku falls asleep with his head on Schneizel's chest, his leg touching Schneizel's, and him holding on as if he didn't want to leave.

...

The last weeks of April fade by faster than Schneizel wants them to, and soon the pretence of having Suzaku as his lover becomes a thing of the past as well _(another page in his book of things gone by, never to be retrieved)_. And so May arrives, drowsy and lazy, the days slowly turning so hot that sleeping at noon becomes a welcome temptation during dull meetings.

Not that Schneizel ever sleeps. He's a man of utter professionalism.

But, even if it's pure folly, he doesn't stop seeing Suzaku, booking him as often as his schedule allows him to — not bothering with hotel meetings anymore, but either using his apartment or Suzaku's place for their 'sessions': them not just having sex anymore, but talking, kissing the whole night —

Schneizel knows he's way past the point of no return. He's enjoying Suzaku's company. He's starting to get used to him.

(_He needs him_.)

So, when Kanon draws him aside one late May afternoon just before a meeting, Schneizel allows it, though he knows that the serious expression on his secretary's face can't mean anything good. Neither can that hand against his own. It's not a personal touch. Still, Schneizel raises an eyebrow. He does have good reason: important clients are waiting for them inside, already seated round the meeting table, and here they are standing in front of the door.

Yet, Kanon doesn't talk at once, clearly ponders his words carefully before he starts speaking. "Regarding Suzaku Kururugi — you should stop seeing him already, sir. Before it spirals out of control. You're even texting him daily."

Schneizel straightens the cuffs of his shirt. "It's a convenient way to keep in touch. As for the rest, I told you I know what I'm doing."

And Kanon sighs, the irritation and even anger showing on his face plainly before he suppresses it all. "Sir, I mean no offence, but this kind of behaviour … it's reckless." His lips are drawn into a tight line, and Schneizel can see he's dead serious.

Any other Mafia head would have Kanon shot for this remark, but Schneizel just places a hand on Kanon's shoulder and says, "Don't worry. I won't do anything foolish."

He _hopes_.

...

_I'm bored ): Entertain me? :)_

_I'm in the middle of a meeting, Suzaku. Well, right now, we're having a break._

_I know — that's why I texted you :). Wouldn't have wanted to interrupt something important. Tell me what you'd like me to do to you. Or, the opposite. My client's still not here, and waiting is …just boring._

_Considerate of you. Well then… One of those days, I'd like you to try out this 'making me beg for mercy' thing._

_Hmm, why the change of mind? Not that I mind 3._

_Maybe because I'm bored myself. Possibly because you just might make falling worthwhile._

_Oh :) I'd make it worthwhile, don't you worry. I'd start off by sucking off you slowly and pull away just before you really became excited — you know, not deep throat, but just run my tongue against your head … By then, you'll have begged for mercy at least once._

_Intriguing. But what makes you think I wouldn't just flip you over? Unless I were tied up._

_Because you're a man of your word. Besides, you like challenges. …. So, do you want me tie you up? We can try 3._

_Intriguing. I'm not sure — I might regret it._

_Or you might not 3 You can tie me up too if you want to :) You can even be rough with me._

_Do you enjoy that?_

_Some of my clients do. The one I'm having over does. He likes pain. Inflicting it on others, that is._

_I didn't ask for that. I asked whether you liked it. _

_You keep forgetting this isn't about what I like, but what my clients do. It's just a job, all of this. I'll do anything if the money is right._

_I see. Not getting your heart involved. I understand that._

_Not only that. It means hurting people. Sometimes._

_For protection. People like my brother._

_Yes. I might hurt you too. Fair warning. Otherwise, I don't play fair: I only go by the highest bidder and, the moment a better one shows up, I change sides._

_I don't mind. I had my heart burnt out years ago._

_You shouldn't tell me that. The more you say you don't mind, the bitterer the pill shall be to swallow._

… _You're warning me. That's interesting._

_I'm not. Just offering some friendly advice._

_Alright. Well, I wouldn't want to tie you up. I know I can make you come undone without having to tie you down._

_Hmm. :) That's true. You're very talented 3._

_Flattering me?_

_Yes. Be glad. I rarely do this for my other clients._

_What else don't you do for your other clients?_

_Text them between hours. Or propose an impromptu session :) Tell you what, I'll be done in three hours. I'll text you again, and we can meet 3_

_That's perfect. I'll be done in three hours myself._

_Good :) I'll let you know. I have to hurry now._

...

But Suzaku doesn't text back in three hours. In fact, he doesn't text back at all, so that, hours after the meeting is over, Schneizel finds himself knocking against a hotel room door. It's silly and stupid, but Schneizel doesn't care: there's a nagging feeling in his chest that something is amiss here, and Schneizel has always been a man of action when it boiled down to things. Sometimes, legwork is necessary.

Especially when it comes to _important _matters.

No one opens, he just hears someone roar 'I didn't call for hotel room service'.

Schneizel pays this no heed, and then decides to try opening the door —- and, much to his surprise, the door opens. Clearly a man lacking in intelligence then. Not that Schneizel minds: he won't have to call in his 'assistant'.

Time to face that imbecile —

But the sight that greets Schneizel makes him freeze on the spot, and he clenches his hand, a thousand and one thoughts racing through his head as he surveys the scene in the well-illuminated room:

On the bed, a man with a shock of red hair thrusts into Suzaku repeatedly, his rips rolling forwards with that much force that the bed creaks so loudly as if the bed springs were about to break. But that's not all: at some point, Suzaku's head — at one particular hard thrust – lolls forward to the side, and Schneizel sees a shiny red ball gag inside his mouth (_disgusting_).

Schneizel takes a few steps towards the bed, noticing now that Suzaku legs are slack, and that his hands are tied to the bedpost, his wrists reddened around the handcuffs. The blood pumps faster into Schneizel's veins, but his voice remains cool. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you weren't replying."

The man, whom Schneizel knows to be Luciano Bradley, infamous for being fond of knives and getting into debt, freezes and stops thrusting, though he doesn't pull out yet. "What the fuck? I told you I don't need anything."

"I'm not room service. Also: _language_," Schneizel says as he looks at his watch, and closes the door. "I'd say four hours are quite enough - don't you think?" He narrows his eyes as he looks at the gag and the handcuffs — _brute_.

Bradley just sneers, and then chuckles — clearly not taking this seriously. "Oh, are you his handler? Didn't know he had one. Just as well, I paid for the whole night. You can check the logs on his email."

This was the wrong thing to say and do for many reasons — Schneizel narrows his eyes and walks over to Bradley, quite calmly — way too calmly — placing a rather strong grip around Bradley's wrist. "No, I'm not his handler, but I'd still advise you to stop and cooperate unless you want this night to end in an uncivilised manner."

Bradley narrows his eyes. "And where the hell do you get off telling me what to do?" And he spits, showing even less respect.

At that, Schneizel's voice turns ice-cold, and he doesn't smile as he tightens his grip. "Just a friendly suggestion. I'm Schneizel Vi Britannia, and I'm really not fond of making threats."

"Never heard of you," Bradley answers, but he isn't grinning anymore — his eyes wider now, less _brazen_.

And Schneizel smirks. "Oh, but I have," he says, and tightens his grip even more. "Enough, Mr Bradley, to know that I just have to make a few phone calls to render life _very_ uncomfortable for you. So, in my humble opinion, the best course of action would be to withdraw and go home."

Bradley grits his teeth, glaring at Schneizel, and glances at a dagger on the night-table — the one he used on _Suzaku_, which still has traces of blood on the blade.

He follows the man's gaze and rolls his eyes (how _mundane_), and just pulls out a gun from his pocket (elegant, barely used but still _effective), _pressing it against the Bradley's temple_._ "Please don't. I'm really not fond of conflict."

"Fine," Bradley says as he pulls out, raising his hands, but he scowls too. "This had better not be a _scam_. I do expect to have my money back after this."

Schneizel keeps his eyes trained on the wall. "It's not. I'll send you _your_ money back. But please put on your clothes on, and kindly _leave_." Thinking this should have been clear enough, Schneizel slowly puts his gun away.

Bradley keeps glaring at him and quickly dresses, obviously uncomfortable because of a hard-on that hasn't been taken care of, but Schneizel doesn't care, glad when the man finally storms out.

Sometimes, he really doesn't mind being the head of a Mafia group.

...

Schneizel removes the cock ring wrapped around the base of Suzaku's cock first, then the handcuffs and finally the gag ball, noticing how Suzaku shifts uncomfortably and bucks his hips — probably having been kept _hard _for hours. Schneizel grits his teeth: Bradley really is a brute. Other men would have had him gunned down for this.

And if Schneizel didn't hate blood, he would have — even if only for having dared to touch Suzaku like _this_ _(because Suzaku should be his, should belong to him — body and __soul__)._

Yet, the moment Suzaku sighs, Schneizel pushes all thoughts of Bradley away though, and leans forward, pressing a kiss against Suzaku's forehead. "I'm sorry. I should have come sooner. It took a while to track you down." He runs his hand through Suzaku's hair gently.

Suzaku doesn't reply, merely moans and bucks his hips again, his eyelids fluttering – looking more _beautiful _than someone in his position should (_open, and vulnerable — without artifice_).

But Schneizel tries to abandon _those _thoughts away as well, wrapping his hand around Suzaku's cock and pumping — intent to make Suzaku come as soon as possible. It only takes a few strokes for that to happen, and Suzaku's mouth widens to an 'oh' before he spills into Schneizel's hand.

He should reach for the bedsheets now and cover Suzaku with them, but Schneizel leans down and presses a kiss against Suzaku's lips, thinking that a little indulgence shouldn't harm anyone _(he knows he won't have Suzaku like this otherwise, not this genuine, not this straightforward—)._

He pulls away with a sigh, watching Suzaku's flushed face, brushes a few sweat-matted strands away from his forehead before leaning down to run his fingers against Suzaku's lips — _soft and warm_. "You're beautiful."

So helpless, so utterly _unsuspecting _—

And then — Suzaku opens his eyes briefly — green eyes glassy, clearly _drugged _— before taking Schneizel's fingers into his mouth, sucking slowly as his eyes slide shut again.

Schneizel sucks in his breath, not withdrawing his fingers though he _should_, but then this can't be wrong, not when Suzaku opened his eyes. Or so Schneizel tells him as he leans forward and presses kisses against Suzaku's neck, earning soft moans (_his skin soft, flushed too —_).

Either Suzaku wants this unconsciously or he's been so well conditioned into doing _this_ that he reacts at once, taking Schneizel's fingers deeper into his mouth, sucking slowly, leisurely.

And it shouldn't be this _hot_, watching a drugged Suzaku suck his fingers, but Schneizel lets him, shifting closer, noticing that Suzaku bucks his hips upwards even more, and then notes that Suzaku is _hard _again, and spreading his legs —

Then, Schneizel loses it, loses all sense of control completely, abandoning logic, reason and propriety, losing himself in some mad desire to possess, and mark this creature as his own (_make the siren his and his alone_).

Before he knows it, Schneizel has lowered his trousers enough to position himself at Suzaku's entrance, and before he's even pondered over his actions, he's pushing inside —

_(He's not thinking, just sinking — deeper, and deeper into all-consuming pleasure.)_

Suzaku just moans, his eyelids fluttering again, and Schneizel begins to move, slowly at first, just rolling his hips upwards, pushing in, _in _before pulling out and …

Before he knows it, he's fucking Suzaku roughly into the mattress, so harshly that the bed creaks, and Suzaku's moans increase in pitch every time he's fully sheathed inside _(nearly as if he were awake, as if he were enjoying this consciously and couldn't get enough of Schneizel's cock)._

Of course, if Schneizel were thinking clearly, he'd calm down, be a little gentler, but it's too good, too warm, too everything, and as feels Suzaku clench against him, he comes — harder than he can remember — and he bites down on Suzaku's neck, really marking him as his and his only now. And this is disturbing because he hasn't wanted to possess anyone since that day when his heart got snapped in half, and he decided that the only thing worth living for was family —

_(Not love, not dreams, definitely not captivating vixens with green eyes.)_

But Schneizel doesn't care, not even as his orgasm wears off, and the only thing he's left with is a drugged Suzaku who shifts closer to him, apparently craving warmth and comfort. Schneizel should leave, but he doesn't.

_(Suzaku has captured his heart entirely, and in return, Schneizel will never leave.)_


End file.
